Oh, how we will speak

So, you want our silence

           but even in silence we roar

you want our complacency

but, oh we will fight

you want our feigned acceptance

           this you will never get

you want us to fade

                            fade

                                fade

            but we’re still here

you want us quiet, submissive, compliant

            but oh,

                        we will speak

you want us to close our eyes, turn away

            yet steady or trembling, we will always watch

you do not want us to give water

            to individuals you are killing

their lives, to you, are empty

but oh, we will show you how full they really are 

so, here we are

            still standing

                        reaffirming their moral ground

entwining red roses on your fences—you’re watched

we will still stop your trucks

we will still hold vigils for the living you are killing

water in our hands, they will drink

they will feel one act of kindness before

the humane devil shocks them, boils them, and slits their throats

            while you make their families and friends watch

we will bear witness to the crimes you commit

you want to remain unseen, want to sanctify your violence

            by forcing us into silence

but you are being watched

            your inhumanity is witnessed, your cowardice is seen

and we will not let your victims be forgotten

you want to hide what you’re doing

            you want us to disappear

so you don’t want us filming, witnessing, showing empathy

                        it disrupts your day, you say

to be shown the consequences of your actions

well, we will not fall in line

and until every cage is empty, every being free

we will not just speak

we will roar

By Kaila Gallacher

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About the poem:

This poem was written by Canadian activist Kaila Gallacher in response to Bill 156, the Security From Trespass and Protecting Food Safety Act. Colloquially, we call this kind of bill "ag-gag" legislation because it prohibits citizens from seeing how animals are treated in farms and slaughterhouses and makes it more difficult for activists to discover and share animal abuse -- even illegal abuse -- in these facilities. In an industry that often feigns transparency, this is a deeply concerning, though not entirely unprecedented, regression.

The poem's theme of "roaring" against normalized animal oppression was inspired by the Roaring Silence event in which activists peacefully marched with informative, emotive signs and images. By covering their mouths with tape, the activists allowed the animals the conservative government is so desperately trying to conceal to share their own tales of suffering with thousands of bystanders.

Gallacher, in her frustration with how the truth is constantly repressed, wrote this poem not only about Bill 156, but about society as a whole. As vegans, we often receive criticism about our activism, but rarely do even our worst critics actually acknowledge the immense suffering and injustice inherent in an animal-based food system. Though their anger with us will fade, we will continue speaking -- roaring -- louder than ever before. We won't stop until the animals finally receive a voice in the public's discussion of their own welfare, until their rights are acknowledged by the people.

You can sign Toronto Pig Save's petition to strike down this unlawful bill here.